


Destiny's Chance

by phyripo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Neighbors, No Angst, seriously this is fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyripo/pseuds/phyripo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Dragos meets his new neighbor, he is stuck underneath an ugly stone statue. The neighbor, that is.</p><p>It only goes uphill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiny's Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play _spot the cameos!_
> 
> Aside from that, I have no idea where this story came from. It's not the most interesting thing, I'll admit - I'm very good at writing stories in which little actually happens - but still. It's a thing I made and I like it.  
> Moldova is Romania's son in this because reasons. Mainly because it's far easier to explain that him being his little brother. Ha.  
> Did I do the characterization right? Probably not!
> 
> And the title is taken from a Dreamtale song, because it's a nice song and I can't think of titles myself.

The first time Dragos met his new neighbor, he was stuck underneath an ugly stone statue. The neighbor, that is.

It was early February. Dragos was just trying to get his garden ready for the coming spring, pulling weeds and cleaning branches and rocks from the grass, when he heard a string of curses spill over the partition between his garden and the next one over. He frowned, but tried to ignore it. Barely a minute later, it started again, this time interspersed with angry muttering in a language he didn’t understand. It was a man’s voice.

“Hey,” he called, “there’s children here. Watch your language, will you?”

Instead of the angry rebuttal he expected, there was a meek “sorry” from next door, and then some pained grunting. Dragos looked up from the grass in surprise, and then, because he was a curious person, he walked over to the fence and climbed up on it to look into the neighboring garden. The house had been empty for a few months now, so he expected the garden to be overgrown, and he wasn’t wrong. That wasn’t what caught his attention, though; that was the man – his new neighbor, maybe? – precariously holding some sort of slab of stone up. He looked like he was on the verge of being crushed by the grey monstrosity.

“Hey,” Dragos called again, “do you need help? I can see why you’re swearing, man!”

The man looked up at him. He had dark hair, and his pale face was red with exertion.

“Uhm, if you don’t mind…”

“No problem!” He climbed over the partition and waded through the high grass. “What do you want with this?”

“Well, uh. I wanted it gone, but I’m—” He grunted. “I’m not sure how to, honestly?”

“You’re gonna need a crane,” Dragos observed. Really, he knew the guy who lived here before had been a little eccentric, but who on earth would want this thing in their garden?

“I don’t _have_ a—”

Dragos remembered he was supposed to help and began pushing at the stone thing. He was glad he was wearing gloves.

Together, they managed to get it upright. It kind of looked like it had a face, which only served to make it more horrifying.

“Thank you so much,” the dark-haired guy said as he took off his own gloves and wiped his forehead. He had green eyes, framed by dark shadows that made him look very tired.

“No problem, honestly!”

“Sorry about the swearing. I promise I’m not like that most of the time.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” He grinned. “I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t do it again come summer. I’ve got a son at an impressionable age.”

A small smile graced the man’s face.

“Wait,” Dragos continued, “you do live here, right? I just assumed you’re my new neighbor, but you might be… A friend, or someone very unprepared from the municipal services.” He took his gloves off as he talked, stretching his fingers. Pulling weeds hurt.

“No, I live here now. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand for Dragos to shake, fingers long and spindly. “I’m Ognyan Borisov.”

“Ah!” He shook the man’s hand. “An Eastern European name. Bulgarian?”

He blinked in surprise, then shook his head. “Yes, actually.”

“You’re shaking your—”

“Sorry, I know! That’s how we say yes in Bulgaria, and it’s hard to stop doing.”

Dragos laughed. “Really? I had no idea. Anyway, my name is Dragos Bălan. And I’m Romanian, actually, although I grew up here.”

“Oh, what a coincidence. I moved here five years ago.” He shrugged apologetically. “Hence the head-shaking. I get confused sometimes.”

“It’s okay. My parents still get confused sometimes.”

Ognyan smiled again, then pushed his hair from his forehead and asked, “Uhm, can I offer you a cup of coffee, maybe, to thank you? I don’t know if you need to get back to your son?”

“He’s at school, no worries. But coffee sounds nice! I’ll just go lock my doors and come around front, if you don’t mind.”

“No, sure thing. Thank you again.”

Dragos laughed as he climbed back into his own garden. “I told you, man, no problem!”

 

* * *

 

 

Dragos Bălan, it turned out, was hard to get rid of. Not that Ognyan _wanted_ to get rid of him, absolutely not, but he didn’t think his neighbor would let go of him so easily if he did. Ognyan thought Dragos must not have many friends, but he wasn’t one to talk.

They spoke over their garden partition a few times a week after Dragos had rescued him from his garden ‘decoration’, mostly about their days and how the interior design of Ognyan’s new home was coming along. He found out that Dragos worked as an editor for children’s books, and that he did so mostly from home so he could spend as much time with his seven-year-old son, Luca, as possible. Ognyan had yet to meet the boy, even though Dragos said he was very excited about dad’s new friend. At some point in March, the conversation came to Luca’s mother.

“Go on,” Dragos said when Ognyan fell silent. “I know you’re curious. I don’t mind you asking.”

“Sure?” He waited a second, trying to figure out how to phrase the question. Dragos was smirking in amusement on the fence, the tip of his tongue touching one of his canines. Ognyan licked his lips. “Well, uh. Why is Luca’s mother not around?”

Dragos nodded. He nodded a lot. Ognyan got the impression he was doing it on purpose, though he couldn’t say for certain if he was making fun of his faux-pas from when they first met or trying to remind him that it was the right thing to do.

“We don’t talk about Luca’s mother,” the man said darkly.

“Uh, I thought…”

“No, kidding! She and I parted when Luca was two. Young and foolish and all that. We’re on pretty good terms, but she travels a lot for her job, so I get to take care of Luca!”

Ognyan smiled. He was moved by the way Dragos talked about his son. He was obviously very proud of the boy.

“Hey, you should come over! Luca would love to meet you. Maybe you can fix his PlayStation.”

Ever since Ognyan had told his neighbor he was an electrician, Dragos had been asking him to fix things that he _couldn’t fix_ , such as his coffee maker, a door, and, at some point, his son’s goldfish bowl, which was empty because the goldfish had been dead for a year and they never got around to buying a new one. And no matter how many times he explained that he could probably only fix their lighting and circuitry, Dragos wouldn’t listen. He was probably also doing that on purpose.

Ognyan hadn’t had friends like Dragos before. He surprised himself by calling him a friend already. Were they friends? He never knew when someone crossed the line from acquaintance to friend.

“Ognyan?”

“Sorry, I zoned out. I’d like to come over! When? Now?”

Dragos shrugged. “If you have no plans…”

Ognyan never had plans in the evenings, except when he had to work. “No, I have nothing.”

 “Great! I’ll go tell Luca. See you in a few!” And he hurried inside.

Ognyan remained leaning against the fence for a while, smiling silently to himself.

It was easy to see the similarities between Luca and Dragos, Ognyan thought once he met the boy. Apart from their nose and mouth, they shared the same sunny disposition and the same disarming smile.

“Hey,” Ognyan said, perhaps a bit too silently, and he stuck his hand out to Luca. He never knew how to _act_ around children. “I’m Ognyan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Me too! I’m Luca.” His hand was small, but very strong.

“I, uh. I like your hair,” Ognyan commented helplessly, gesturing at the messy pigtails on the boy’s head. Luca’s hair was several shades darker than his father’s.

He grinned, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “Thanks! Some kids at school thought it was stupid, but I punched them!”

“ _What_?!” Dragos’s voice sounded from the kitchen, where the man was making coffee. Luca grinned sheepishly when his father appeared back in the living room. “Luca Bălan, what did I tell you about punching people?”

“That it’s not nice… But I didn’t punch hard! It was more like a— Like a brofist!”

“A what.”

“Dad! You’re so uncool! Ognyan knows what a brofist is, right?”

Ognyan had no idea what a brofist was. He thought the word sounded vaguely Scandinavian and hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Vikings.

“Oh, no wonder you’re friends with dad. Now you can be lame together.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than being lame alone,” Dragos replied drily. “But don’t think I’ll just forget about this, Luca.”

“Okay,” Luca muttered. But then he brightened and proceeded to teach Ognyan what a brofist was; just a fistbump. Terminology changed far too fast for Ognyan, who was glad he could understand English at all.

He had a nice evening, altogether. There was an awkward moment when Dragos put his son to bed, and Ognyan didn’t know if he could stay or not, but Dragos assured him he could stay as long as he wanted, and somehow the awkwardness faded after that. They talked, about much the same as they did when they had their garden chats, but they both agreed that it was more comfortable on a warm couch, and Dragos proudly showed off some of Luca’s school projects to an amused Ognyan.

Ognyan couldn’t help but invite Dragos and Luca over to his for dinner next week.

 

* * *

 

 

Every other week, Dragos, Luca and Ognyan had dinner together. Dragos had no idea why he felt as comfortable around his neighbor as he did, or vice versa for that matter, but he was glad for every friend he could make. And Luca liked him too, which was always a plus. Ognyan was shy, not very outspoken like most of the people he would consider friends, and Dragos didn’t think he had one artistic bone in his body, also unlike most of those people. The shyness got less as he spent more time with Dragos, which was a nice thing. His cooking was amazing, though, despite his weird preference for yogurt.

“You should do something with this,” Dragos told him, leaning on the counter in the man’s kitchen.

Ognyan shrugged. “I like being an electrician. Besides, I can’t just give that up for something as unstable as cooking.”

“All you need’s one lucky break.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at Dragos. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? You can’t create lucky breaks.”

“Oh, but I can!” He hopped up on the counter, ignoring his friend’s disapproving look. “Have I ever told you I do magic?”

Ognyan’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

“That’s a shame, because I am really…” He put his arm in front of his face as if he were hiding behind a cape, and continued in an extremely exaggerated version of his parents’ accent. “Vlad the Great & Powerful, magician extraordinaire!”

Ognyan laughed. “Okay, count Dracula.”

“How dare you!”

“Can you get off the counter, Dragos? I need that area to—”

“That is Vlad the Great & Powerful to you!”

He sighed dramatically. “Can you get off my counter, oh Vlad the Great & Powerful, magician extraordinaire?”

Oh, he even added the ‘magician extraordinaire’, that was a nice touch. Dragos hopped off the counter. “I actually used to be a magician, you know, to earn some extra money during college. I was pretty good at it too.”

“Really? With the accent and everything?”

“Yep.” His parents had been the ones who laughed the loudest at it. Luca’s mother had been second. In retrospect, maybe that hadn’t been the best basis for a relationship. “But that’s not the worst of it. At some point, I decided to bleach my hair. Can you imagine me with blond hair?”

Ognyan looked at his light brown hair appraisingly. “You know, I’m trying to, but it just seems wrong.” Then he turned and looked around the counter. “Have you seen my knife? I thought I left it here.”

Dragos took a step closer to him and put the accent back on. “Is it perhaps…” He reached into the back pocket of Ognyan’s jeans, thoroughly amused by the way the man froze. “ _In your pocket_?!” He pulled the knife out triumphantly. “Vlad the Great  & Powerful, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you, thank you.” He bowed to an invisible audience.

Ognyan was grinning at him, but he still managed to look confused at the same time. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Of course not,” Dragos replied in his normal voice. He put the knife on the counter. “I could also have started pickpocketing people, but, I mean, there’s stereotypes and then there’s stereotypes, and how was I going to get a degree if I was in jail?”

Ognyan shook his head, still smiling. “You’re a weirdo, Dragos.” And then he hurried to say that he meant that as a positive thing.

“I am of the firm belief that everyone in the world is a weirdo,” Dragos said over him, and his neighbor stopped talking, green gaze fixing itself on Dragos curiously. “Life is much easier when you believe everyone is as bad as you.” He took a step back, because he was much closer to Ognyan than he thought he’d been.

“I guess that makes sense,” Ognyan mumbled.

“Life advice from your friendly neighborhood Romanian, that’ll be two dollars, please.”

“Oh, get out and let me slice my cucumber in peace.”

Dragos went to help his son with setting the table, grinning to himself as he thought of his friend’s easy laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

Spring turned agonizingly slowly into summer. Ognyan finally got around to getting someone to remove the stone whatever-it-was from his backyard at the end of May. He was invited to Luca’s birthday party, spent three days trying to decide what to get the kid as a present and eventually settled on a gift card from the arts & crafts store in town. Luca liked being creative, so he thought he’d appreciate the gift, even if it wasn’t very imaginative of him. To his relief, Luca was overjoyed, and he even got a hug out of it. Dragos’s parents, who got their grandson a new goldfish, asked him to fix their television, and Ognyan’s stuttering reply to that made Dragos fall off his lounge chair laughing.

Ognyan caught a glimpse of Luca’s mother in the evening, when she came to pick the boy up for a weekend away in honor of his birthday, and then he proceeded to drink too much wine with Dragos and had to go into work with a massive headache.

In June, he had a few weeks off work and was dragged to the lake by his neighbors a few times. Dragos had a very pale complexion and preferred to stay in the shadow, so Ognyan was tasked with entertaining Luca, until he met some school friends and went to play with them. Dragos built a sand castle with someone he met three minutes prior, which made Ognyan feel envious for several reasons, some of which he’d really prefer not to think about. Another time, he did an impromptu magic show with Luca as his lovely assistant, over-the-top Romanian accent and all, and they earned enough money to buy ice cream for all three of them.

Ognyan spent an afternoon alone with Luca when Dragos had to take an old friend of his to the hospital.

“No, he’s fine,” Dragos had said. “His little brother got stuck in a freezer, so he’s not.”

“How did he get—”

“I don’t know. It’s a recurring theme, though. Last year he fell in the lake and got hypothermia. I think he dislikes heat.”

Then, almost in July already, Ognyan was just relaxing in his backyard, reading a book his mother had sent him from Bulgaria, when he heard a shrill cry and a loud crash from the Bălans’ garden.

He shot up and climbed on the garden partition to look, concerned because he didn’t hear Dragos rush to help his son.

“Luca?” he called, but then he saw the boy. He was on the ground, his leg stuck underneath the upturned garden table, and he seemed to have fallen with his head on the terrace tiles. He was lying very still and not reacting at all. Ognyan’s heart froze in chest. He clambered down, snatched his cellphone from his chair and rushed over the fence to check on Luca. There was no blood on the tiles, which was good, as far as he was concerned, but he was already dialing 911 with shaking hands. And where the _hell_ was Dragos?

A minute after the phone call disconnected, Luca’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared, unfocused, into space. Ognyan touched the boy’s shoulder.

“Hey, Luca?” he asked softly.

He blinked a few times, then mumbled, “My leg hurts, Ognyan,” and tried to sit up. Tears sprang up in his eyes immediately, and Ognyan was terrified he’d faint again.

“Stay down, okay? I called an ambulance, they’ll be here soon.” Vaguely, he remembered that you were supposed to keep talking to people who might have a concussion, although he couldn’t remember why at the moment, so he tried to ignore that his voice was also shaking and asked, “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“I don’t know,” Luca said, words slurring a little. “Where’s dad?”

“I don’t know, Luca. Try not to move too much, okay? I think the table fell on you and hurt your leg.”

“I was gonna… There was a butterfly?” He inhaled sharply, trying to hold back tears. “My leg hurts.”

“I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

It took an _eternity_ for the ambulance to arrive, and Ognyan had to leave Luca’s side when they looked him over, which he didn’t like at all. Luca demanded blearily that he stay with him, so he sat next to him in the ambulance, staring blankly at his feet and not registering anything.

Then he was at a reception desk all of a sudden, and someone was asking his name and he had to spell it three times, and he had to explain where the diacritic on Luca’s last name was and what was his relation to Luca?

“I’m his neighbor,” he said, and then, for some reason, “I was watching over him while his father was out.”

His phone rang.

Dragos. Ognyan excused himself to pick up, suddenly completely alert.

“Ognyan? Please, please tell me you know where Luca is. I just came home and all the doors are still unlocked but I can’t find him anywhere, and you’re also not home?”

“I’m in— I’m at the hospital with him.”

“The hospital! What happened? Fuck, Ognyan, I’m coming over there right now.”

“Be safe. I’m not sure what happened, exactly, but I think he tried to climb on the table and it fell on him? He might have a concussion, but I haven’t heard from the doctors yet.” He sat down on a white plastic chair, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, fucking— I was just out to buy milk, I thought he’d be fine! Thank god you were paying attention.”

“I think he might have broken his leg, too,” Ognyan added helplessly, and Dragos cursed.

He arrived within minutes, probably having broken the speed limit, and immediately latched on to Ognyan.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ognyan was unsure how to react to that, so instead he said, “I told them you had me watching over him. They’re not too keen on single father who leave their kids without supervision, I think.”

 _“Thank you_ ,” Dragos breathed, flinging his arms around him. He was a little shorter than Ognyan, so his chin rested on his shoulder, and Ognyan could feel just how much he was shaking. He rubbed the man’s back awkwardly.

“Mr Borisov?” the same voice as before asked behind him, so he looked over his shoulder. “The doctor has looked at Luca.” The woman’s gaze moved to Dragos, who was clutching Ognyan’s shirt. “Are you Luca’s father, sir?”

Dragos dislodged himself from Ognyan. “Yes. I came as soon as Ognyan told me what happened.”

“Dragos Bălan, yes?”

He nodded, not even bothering to correct her pronunciation of his surname.

“And you were out when your son had his accident?”

“Buying milk. Can I please see Luca?”

Some formalities later, Ognyan and Dragos were guided to a hospital room. The nurse explained that Luca had, in fact, broken his leg, but it was a clean break and would heal nicely. His concussion was not severe, but they wanted to keep him overnight, since he _had_ been out for a while and they wanted to make sure he was okay. Ognyan was pretty sure he was going to have bruises from how hard Dragos was squeezing his forearm, but he didn’t mind, not when Dragos was so obviously relieved to see his son safe.

Somewhere in the hospital, probably when Dragos was hugging him again, telling him he owed him everything and inadvertently pushing his hair into his face, Ognyan realized he was in too deep. He’d fallen in love with his neighbor.

 

* * *

 

 

Luca was a horrible patient. Once he got over the initial shock, he took advantage of his leg being immobilized gleefully, and Dragos obliged his every whim, partially because he felt guilty about leaving him alone in the first place, for not being there to catch him. Thank god for Ognyan.

Ognyan, for his part, seemed thoroughly amused by his frantic running around. Their garden partition had become virtually meaningless over the summer, and at some point Dragos had seriously considered knocking the whole thing down, or at least building a gate in, but it was really too hot to even consider doing that much work most of the time. Dragos had to force his son to wear shorts when he was afraid he’d get laughed at for having only one tan leg. Ognyan didn’t seem to be able to burn, despite the paleness of his skin.

Dragos met some of his neighbor’s friends from work when he had a barbecue, including an alarmingly aggressive woman who accidentally punched him in the face and became best friends with Luca after that. Well, she _said_ it was accidental. Dragos decided he didn’t trust her.

That evening, Luca’s mother came to pick him up. The two of them were going on a holiday for ten days, and Dragos knew that, if he were an introspective person, he’d probably find it weird that he had no plans for the time he’d be alone beyond ‘spending time with Ognyan’.

They watched the car drive away until it rounded the corner of the street. Dragos pulled at his earlobe distractedly, thinking about Luca’s mother. She was a great woman, probably too great for him, but he was glad she was around at least sometimes to calm Luca down a bit, and maybe ingrain some femininity into him. It couldn’t be good to have only men around.

“Are you okay?” Ognyan asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.” He turned to his friend and grinned. “Hey, Ognyan, tell me, why isn’t there a Mrs Borisov yet?” Ognyan opened his mouth, but Dragos thought of something else and added, “Or a Mr civil union Borisov, of course.”

Ognyan’s mouth stayed half-open, and for a few seconds Dragos was afraid he’d made a terribly homophobic friend whom he’d never want to talk to again, but then the man smiled in relief.

“I don’t— I just haven’t met the right – guy, yet. Not actively looking either, so, I mean…” He took his sunglasses off and began polishing them with the hem of his t-shirt.

Dragos touched his upper arm – his skin was so pale in comparison! – to make him look up. “You up for pizza? I don’t feel like cooking.”

Ognyan shook his head.

“I don’t know if you mean yes or no right now.” He only made the shaking/nodding mistake when he was nervous or sleepy or otherwise distracted, but Dragos had the feeling that might be the case at the moment.

“I’d like pizza, yeah,” Ognyan said.

Back in the garden, and after calling the pizzeria, he sighed very deeply and confessed that he’d been afraid of what Dragos would think of him if he knew he was gay.

“That’s ridiculous,” Dragos replied, and then he didn’t know what else to say, which was a rare occurrence.

“Maybe it is,” Ognyan mumbled. “I’m glad you’re okay with it anyway. Back in Bulgaria, there were plenty of people who were not so— Anyway.”

For some reason, looking at his friend gazing down at his bony legs and wringing his hands, Dragos almost told him he loved him. He shot up in his chair.

Well, that explained a lot, he thought, amused with himself for not having noticed his attraction to Ognyan earlier. Perhaps he wasn’t as smart as he liked to think he was.

 

* * *

 

 

It became August far too soon to Ognyan’s liking. One of his coworkers set him up on a date, because apparently she thought you couldn’t be a good colleague if she hadn’t sent you on a blind date. Ognyan couldn’t remember ever telling her that he liked men, so he was a little surprised when his date was, in fact, a man. He wasn’t Dragos, though, and by the end of the evening Ognyan just wanted to beat him with a stick because he _wouldn’t shut up_. His coworker was very amused and asked him to greet Luca for her. Ognyan couldn’t remember how she knew Luca until Dragos reminded him that she punched him in the face once.

“It was _awesome_ ,” Luca told Ognyan conspiratorially, and then he asked if he could paint his nails, which was how Ognyan ended up going to work with nails in six different colors.

The Bălans went away for a week at the end of August, just before the new school year, and Ognyan finally read some books he’d been meaning to read all summer. His crush on Dragos wasn’t getting any less, but it was getting easier to admit to himself. He refused to let it influence how he acted towards the man, though. He was nearly thirty and could function like a normal person, even when he had a crush.

Or not more of a weirdo than usual, as Dragos would say.

He mentioned that his birthday was in September during a bi-weekly dinner, and both Luca’s and Dragos’s eyes lit up. Ognyan regretted opening his mouth immediately.

“How old will you be?” Luca asked. “Are you the same age as dad?”

“I’m turning thirty.” Kind of a milestone in his life, now that he thought about it.

“Dad is thirty… Two, right?”

“Sure am,” Dragos said, smiling. Then he grinned at Ognyan, tongue touching at a canine. It was a habit, Ognyan had noticed, one he found oddly attractive. “What do you want for you birthday, then?”

He stumbled his way through saying he didn’t know, and repeated that at least six more times until his birthday. It was a rainy day. Luca had tried very hard to learn to sing Happy Birthday in Bulgarian, which was adorable, even if Ognyan only understood three words.

“It’s funny,” he told Dragos. “He has a Romanian accent in Bulgarian. Does he speak Romanian?”

Dragos shook his head, amused. “Not much, anyway. It’s probably because I had to practice with him. Anyway, we got you a present! Luca come over here and give Ognyan his present!”

Luca handed Ognyan an envelope that he’d drawn a stylized stick figure rendition of the man in question on. He was holding some sort of gigantic plate in one rake hand and a flower in the other. Luca pointed at the flower. “I wanted that to be a sword, but I messed up a little. So now you’re the flower knight. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ognyan smiled. “Of course not. Thank you, Luca.”

Dragos snickered and shook his leg. “C’mon, open it, man!” He had a happy twinkle in his coppery eyes and was leaning far into Ognyan’s space. His hand remained on his upper leg even as Ognyan fumbled the envelope open with fingers that were suddenly shaking a little bit.

“And, and?” he asked, now squeezing Ognyan’s leg.

“A cooking workshop in a restaurant, name of Ognyan Borisov.” He stared at the piece of paper for a few seconds. Dragos was pressing himself against his side and breathing on his neck, which was a little distracting, but eventually he said, “Guys, thank you so much. You shouldn’t have, honestly. I’m— I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re welcome,” Dragos said, voice low and breathy.

“Yeah!” Luca exclaimed, climbing up on the couch on Ognyan’s other side. “Now you can be even better at cooking!”

“Thank you,” Ognyan repeated, smiling at the boy. He mentally steeled himself before turning to Dragos. “I really like it.”

Dragos’s smile was soft. “I’m glad.” He smelled strangely like cinnamon, and Ognyan wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt in his chest.

Luckily, Luca was there to distract both of them by climbing on the back of the couch and dive-bombing on top of them. Dragos whooped and wrestled his son off the couch.

 

* * *

 

 

Dragos tried to push the limits of his friendship with Ognyan. It started accidentally – he honestly liked being close to him, and he’d always been a tactile person, but after the man’s birthday, he started touching him more on purpose, keeping his voice low and private when they talked, standing too close. Ognyan sometimes stuttered a bit, but he didn’t comment on Dragos’s antics, and Dragos liked to think he knew him well enough by now to tell when he was really uncomfortable, and that didn’t seem to be the case.

Slowly, the suspicion rose that, maybe, perhaps, Ognyan was attracted to him as well. He spent some time creating increasingly elaborate fantasies about telling his friend, then even more time creating very single-minded fantasies about the two of them moving together, about Ognyan’s spindly limbs under him and over him and how his skin would be warm underneath his fingers, and at a certain point he got so distracted watching the man cook that he cut his thumb and bled over the cucumber. So, instead, he began planning on actually telling him about the feelings – because it’d gone way beyond just attraction, it was an honest-to-god crush.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Then, on a dreary day in October, a Friday that Ognyan was supposed to come over for dinner, Dragos and Luca were waiting for him, which was unusual. After twenty minutes without a sign, Dragos told Luca to wait while he went to check on their neighbor. Ognyan, while not the most punctual person on the planet, was not someone who just wouldn’t show up without a word.

Dragos rang the doorbell. After a while, Ognyan opened. He was looking down. His eyes were hidden behind a curtain of dark hair, and Dragos immediately felt that something was wrong.

“Hey,” Ognyan said, sounding raspy. Dragos took a step towards him.

“What’s wrong?”

His neighbor looked up at him through his hair. “It’s— I just got the—” He squeezed his lips together and his eyes shut. Dragos took another step into the house and shut the front door behind himself. Ognyan took a step back to lean against the wall. He rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at Dragos with teary eyes.

“My mother called from Bulgaria.” His voice was very soft. He swallowed hard before continuing in a whisper, “My father passed away.”

“Oh. I’m—” Dragos reached out to Ognyan, but he stopped his hand halfway. He had no idea if he would be okay with that right now. “I’m very sorry to hear that. My condolences.”

Ognyan shook his head, obviously trying very hard not to cry, and it didn’t even matter if he meant yes or no. “I just can’t believe—” He broke himself off with a shuddering exhale.

Dragos reached for his arm. “It’s okay if you want to cry. Or should I leave? I could leave, if you want me to—”

Ognyan said nothing, but he pushed himself off the wall and wrapped his arms around Dragos’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck. His own shoulders shook as sobs escaped him. Dragos rubbed his back, knowing there wasn’t much else he could do.

“It was really sudden,” Ognyan mumbled into the collar of his shirt. “One moment, he was there, and the next, he was not.” His accent was far more pronounced than Dragos had ever heard it before.

He let a hand run up to Ognyan’s neck and comb through his hair in a way that had always served to calm Luca down when he was younger and tried to make soothing noises.

Dragos didn’t know how long they stood there in Ognyan’s hallway, not saying anything, but Ognyan pulled away from Dragos eventually to wipe the tears from his face and look at the ground again. He was muttering excuses, which was ridiculous, so Dragos took the man’s face between his hands without thought and held him up, thumbs swiping at his wet cheeks. Belatedly, he realized that that was probably a gesture that would be considered a little strange, but it was already in motion.

“Don’t apologize, man. It’s, it’s— If you need anything, you know where to find us, right? Don’t be afraid to just— I don’t know, just don’t apologize for being sad. Or getting my shirt wet, I seriously don’t give a fuck, Ognyan.” Dragos had a habit of talking too much when he was out of his depth.

“Thank you,” Ognyan whispered, his long fingers winding around Dragos’s wrists. “I’m sorry ab—”

“What did I just say?”

The man smiled a watery smile through his tears. Dragos moved his hands from his face, down until the two of them were sort-of holding hands. He gave a brief squeeze.

“If you want dinner, there’s some waiting with Luca.”

“’M not hungry,” Ognyan mumbled.

“I thought so. Try to eat something, though, okay?”

He nodded vaguely. “You should probably get back to Luca, right?” He looked down at their hands. “You can tell him what’s up.”

“Hm,” Dragos replied softly. “Again, if you want me to come over – or if you want to come over – you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Dragos, honestly.” Another wobbly smile.

“Take care, okay?”

“Always.”

God, no, it was more than a crush. Dragos was pretty sure he loved Ognyan.

 

* * *

 

 

Ognyan’s family was ecstatic to see him, even if the circumstances were less than desirable, and he was glad to see them again as well, especially his mother. However, strangely enough, Bulgaria didn’t feel as much as home anymore as it had done five years ago, before job opportunities made him emigrate.

After his father’s funeral, he couldn’t stay too long; he had to go back to work. But before he left, his mother and cousins managed to pry some information about Dragos out of him that he _hadn’t planned to share_.

“A _Romanian_?” his mother had exclaimed, and his cousins had started giggling.

“Yes, mom, but he wasn’t born in Romania.”

“He’s still Romanian!” She was smiling, though, so Ognyan didn’t think she honestly minded. He smiled back. Honestly, he was very lucky to have a family like this. It could have been so much worse.

“So is he, like, really old?” his seventeen-year-old cousin had asked. “If he’s got a son…”

“He’s thirty-two, not that you need to know.”

There was a lot of reminiscing about his father, too, of course, and Ognyan had to sort out his inheritance. He surprised himself by accidentally writing in Latin instead of Cyrillic script and had to start over on two forms.

He got back on a Saturday, feeling mostly relieved and not as sad anymore. Dragos had taken him to the airport, since Ognyan didn’t trust them with his work van over there, so he came to pick him up as well. The man was waiting at the gate, tightly bundled up in a long, dark coat. It was almost November and getting colder and colder. He smiled when he spotted Ognyan, removing a hand from his pocket to wave. Ognyan waved back.

“Hey man, good to see you!” Dragos called when he was within hearing range. He pulled Ognyan into a brief hug, keeping his hands on his shoulders when they parted. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling okay,” Ognyan answered honestly. He smiled at his friend. “It’s good to see you too. How is Luca?”

“Fine! He’s with his mother right now. Here, let me get your luggage.”

“Oh, no, that’s—”

He was already tugging Ognyan’s suitcase behind him.

“Oh, ok.”

Ognyan invited Dragos over for coffee, because that was the least he could do for someone who was willing to drive two hours for him.

“Your mother must have been happy to see you,” Dragos said. His nails were painted bright red, which probably meant that Luca had been a creative mood again. “How long had it been, anyway?”

“I hadn’t been back to Bulgaria since I came here. Not enough money.”

“Hm,” he replied, blowing on his coffee.

“I was going to go next spring, for my parents’ fortieth wedding… Wedding anniversary?” Huh, that was a word he hadn’t had to use in English before. “But that won’t happen anymore, now.”

“Just anniversary. That sucks, though.”

Ognyan stared at his coffee, willing the tears in his eyes down. He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dragos was smiling softly, one corner of his mouth turned up.

“I missed you,” Ognyan blurted. Dragos’s expression morphed into one of surprise, then into another smile. He squeezed Ognyan’s shoulder. Ognyan hoped he wasn’t turning completely red, but it sure felt like it.

“I missed you, too,” Dragos smiled. “And so did Luca, for that matter.”

“Y-yeah,” Ognyan stuttered.

Dragos did this a lot, he’d started noticing. Touching him, smiling that particular smile. He didn’t dare hope that it meant anything. Although he was generally quite an optimistic person, he’d only have himself if this was nothing, and potentially ruin his friendship. He didn’t even know if Dragos liked men!

“Uh, how long’s Luca with his mother?” he asked to distract himself.

“Until Monday. She’s gonna take him to school, and then he’ll come home afterwards. Hey, I should leave you alone. You look exhausted, man.” He removed his hand slowly, trailing his fingers over Ognyan’s upper arm. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” said Ognyan, who didn’t _feel_ tired.

Dragos stood up. “If you need anything, I’ll be at home.”

“Thank you.” Ognyan went to open the door for him, because he was a polite person and maybe a little bit because he liked watching Dragos as much as possible. He smiled to himself when he remembered his mother’s quasi-indignant squawks about Dragos being _Romanian_.

“Something funny?” the Romanian in question asked.

“You’d get along with my mother,” Ognyan replied, which he knew explained nothing at all.

“Thanks?” Dragos said, eyebrows raised.

“You’re welcome. Go on.” He gestured at the door, and Dragos laughed, shoved at his shoulder good-naturedly and went outside.

“See you, Ognyan!” he called, and Ognyan waved. He felt like something important was happening, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on _what_. Time would tell, he decided, and went to unpack his bags.

 

* * *

 

 

They were on the verge of something, Dragos could feel it. He hadn’t wanted to push his luck when Ognyan had just returned from Bulgaria, because that was just unseemly, but something had definitely shifted, to the point where Luca was starting to notice.

“Dad, can I ask you something?” the boy had asked, over his customary bedtime story he insisted he’d never grow too old for. Dragos used to read from the books he got for reviewing and editing, as a test of sorts, but his son definitely was getting too old for most of those.

“Sure, go ahead,” he replied, curious.

Luca pushed his tongue against a loose tooth, then asked, “Do you like Ognyan?”

“Of course I like Ognyan. Don’t you?”

“No, dad! I mean, do you _like-like_ Ognyan?”

Like-like. Well, that was sort of an understatement, if he’d _noticed_ , Dragos thought, mildly amused. “Why do you think that, Luc?”

“Dad! Just answer the question!”

Dragos pushed his hair behind his ear, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. “I guess you could say I ‘like-like’ Ognyan, yes.”

“I knew it!” Luca exclaimed, enthusiastically pumping his fist in the air. “I think he likes you too, you know.”

Dragos shook his head in amusement. “And would you be okay with that, hm?”

“As long as you don’t get all gross together.”

He laughed and ruffled Luca’s hair. Luca squirmed away, trying to shield himself with his pillow. It took a while before he went to sleep that evening.

Ognyan took up running in November, which, according to Dragos, was the worst time to start running. Then again, he’d been blessed with a fast metabolism so he didn’t _need_ to run to stay in shape, and he wouldn’t do anything that strenuous voluntarily, so any time would be the worst time to start running if you asked him. Ognyan seemed to enjoy it, though. Dragos discovered that he liked how Ognyan looked when he was sweaty, which was a little weird, and sometimes, when his friend was doing a cooling-down in the backyard, his mind transformed the panting and quiet groans it heard into something else entirely, which was even weirder.

He was still unsure why it was that he liked Ognyan so much – sure, he was attractive, he knew he wasn’t the only one who saw that, and he was funny once you got to know him, and nice and a great cook and he sang funny songs when he cleaned and when he cooked, and Dragos honestly couldn’t think of a single bad thing about the guy except for his shyness, which sometimes meant that he let people walk all over him, but there were plenty of people like that, right?

“Right?” he asked a friend of his, who couldn’t escape him because he had to be driven to the hospital. Again. This time, his little brother got into an overly aggressive pillow fight with the man’s former roommate-turned-what the hell ever, Dragos didn’t even want to know.

“But you met _him_ ,” he said, gazing out of the window. “You didn’t meet any of those other people. It’s pure chance, really. Or destiny, if you believe in that.”

That helped, weirdly enough.

Luca made up elaborate plans involving lots of flowers and kissing in the rain, for whatever reason.

“It always seems to work in movies,” he told Dragos seriously.

“But what if I get sick?” Dragos had asked, playing along.

Luca thought long and hard, and then answered, “Well, then he’ll take care of you, of course! Duh!”

All in all, he should just do something about the whole situation, Dragos thought, because this was getting ridiculous.

He was nervous.

Dragos Bălan was not someone who got nervous often. Things like that are over quick when you’ve made a fool of yourself with a gigantic cape, a tiny hat and a fake Romanian accent a few times. Ever the optimist, he decided to take it as a sign that he was doing the right thing. After all, being nervous for something that wasn’t important was ridiculous.

Mid-November, two weeks before Dragos would be turning thirty-three, Luca’s was at his mother’s again, and Dragos was over at Ognyan’s for dinner. It should be tonight, he’d decided. He wasn’t sure how, but tonight.

Ognyan had made something delicious that he only half-tasted, and it must have shown, because the man looked over at him with his brow furrowed and asked, “Are you okay, Dragos?”

They were sitting on the couch, trying to eat frozen yogurt that was too frozen too spoon up properly. Ognyan had been furiously hacking at his with his spoon, because he loved yogurt, even when it was frozen. Dragos tugged at his earlobe. Ognyan’s eyes were very green, and rather concerned on him, so he smiled.

“I’m fine, I’m just, ah… Can I ask you something?”

Ognyan nodded.

“Okay, I’m gonna assume that means yes,” Dragos quipped, and Ognyan sighed dramatically. “No, seriously. The point is that, well – you know, this was much easier in my mind.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ognyan asked, halfway between amused and concerned.

Dragos took a very deep breath. “Ognyan, I’m in love with you and I’m kind of hoping you feel the same way about me and maybe we can go out together on an actual date sometimes ‘cause that would make me really fucking happy but if you don’t I hope we can still be friends okay?”

There were three agonizing seconds of silence; Dragos was afraid he’d talked too fast and would have to repeat the whole thing, and his hands were shaking and his heart was pounding in his throat, but then Ognyan muttered something in Bulgarian, his blank face transforming into a huge grin.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“I’m dead serious,” Dragos replied, feeling his own lips stretch into a grin as well. “I’m dead serious, Ognyan. Even Luca noticed, I mean, honestly—”

“Yes,” Ognyan said.

“Yes what? I completely forgot what I just actually said, man.” Somehow, he found, his hand had landed on the other man’s leg. Ognyan put his own hand on top of it.

“Yes, I – I feel the same way about you, and I’d love to, uh, go on a date with you.” He looked down, blushing. Dragos felt like he’d just won the lottery. He leaned forward to throw his arms around Ognyan, who hugged back immediately.

“Fuck, man, you have no idea how nervous I was!” Dragos said, starting to laugh.

Ognyan giggled, too, and before long, the two of them were doubled over in laughter, Dragos’s forehead resting against Ognyan’s shaking shoulder.

“Oh, watch out for the yogurt,” the man giggled, and Dragos looked up at him.

“You and your yogurt.”

“Hey, I’m Bulgarian!”

“That explains everything, does it?”

Ognyan smiled. Dragos hadn’t been quite this close to him before. He had light freckles across the bridge of his nose, he could see for the first time, a tiny scar just underneath his lip.

“Hey,” Dragos mumbled, and Ognyan tilted his head a little. “I want to kiss you really bad right now, is— Can I?”

Ognyan bent his neck and pressed their lips together in reply. Short, cold, soft. Dragos didn’t even have time to close his eyes.

“So, I guess that’s another way of saying yes?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Ognyan asked.

“Why don’t you make me?” And he honestly hadn’t realized how suggestive that would sound until he said it. Ognyan grinned and took the suggestion to heart anyway.

He was a surprisingly good kisser. His lips were cold because of the yogurt, but they warmed up against Dragos’s soon enough. Dragos pulled himself up a little, on hand combing through the man’s hair. The kiss was chaste, just lips on lips, but that was okay. That was more than okay with Dragos, whose stomach was doing backflips. He was finding it very hard to keep from smiling.

When they pulled apart, he kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, breathing Ognyan’s air. He felt, more than heard, the man snicker, and opened one eye to look at him.

“You _are_ a weirdo, Bălan.”

He opened the other eye as well, raising his eyebrows. “Are we on a last name basis now? Don’t you think that’s a little strange, Borisov?”

“Sorry,” Ognyan said.

“Okay, that needs to stop. You’d think you were Canadian, honestly.”

Instead of apologizing for apologizing, Ognyan kissed him again. Dragos thought he could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

 

Ognyan didn’t know what to expect from this new thing between them. He’d only ever had one serious relationship before, and it couldn’t be compared to his friendship with Dragos, so he didn’t do that. Despite his initial nervousness, not much changed. Dragos touched him even more, which he liked a lot, and sometimes they shared a quick kiss. By unspoken agreement, they didn’t mention anything to Luca yet. Ognyan wasn’t sure when they would, and he knew Luca liked him so he wasn’t worried about it, but he didn’t mind having this to himself for a while.

Their first official date, on the last day of November, was very nice, even if Dragos got into a fight with the chef at the restaurant, whom he apparently knew from high school, and they ended up getting döner down the street, laughing and shoving at each other like teenagers. Luca was with one of Dragos’s strange friends, so they ended up on the couch in the living room of Dragos’s house, drinking wine and recounting stories from their teen years. At a certain point, Dragos remembered that he had his magician outfit around somewhere and went to look for it. He only found a really tiny hat with ribbons on it, but he put that, and his fake Romanian accent, on anyway and announced he was going to do an exclusive show.

“For my first trick,” he started, “I need a volunteer! Volunteers?”

“Were you one of those magicians who had an accomplice in the audience who’d ‘volunteer’ every time?” Ognyan asked drily.

Dragos held his invisible cape in front of his face with a disgusted expression. “How dare you, sir! Come here, I’ll show you!”

Ognyan laughed and stood up. “Where do you want me?”

The man’s eyes darkened, and Ognyan felt his face heat up when he realized how that question could be taken.

“Someday, in every single place we can think of,” Dragos said in his normal voice, expression one part lecherous and one part soft, and then he continued theatrically before Ognyan had the chance to reply, “Please stand just over there, sir! Now raise your right hand, please.”

Ognyan was unsure, in the end, what the point of the eventual magic trick had been, because his mind was busy conjuring up images – and sounds, and other sensations – to go with Dragos’s words. All he knew is that it involved a lot of Dragos correcting his stance in a very hands-on way, and at a certain point, the man plastered himself against his back and breathed instructions into his ear.

They were a _little_ tipsy by midnight, Dragos lying on top of Ognyan’s legs with his hat on his forehead, choppy brown hair spread out over his thigh.

“Hey,” Ognyan said, glancing at the clock, “it’s December. Happy birthday!”

“Hm?” He lifted his hat. “Oh, hey, thanks! Did you get me a present? I want presents.”

“You’re like twelve,” Ognyan accused. It was a phrase he’d picked up from Luca, who also tended to direct it at his father. It made no sense, of course, considering Luca was only eight himself, but both of them found it appropriate for Dragos, at times.

“Thirty-three, actually, but thank you for the compliment on my youthful looks. Did you _get_ me anything?”

“Here,” Ognyan said, and bent over to press their mouths together. The angle was awkward, but that didn’t seem to deter Dragos’s enthusiasm. He hoisted himself up, using Ognyan’s neck as leverage, and angled his head better. Ognyan put his hands on the man’s waist and parted his lips to slide his tongue over Dragos’s mouth. His lips parted for him immediately; Ognyan screwed his eyes tight shut, trying to block out everything but this, their tongues sliding together, warm and tasting of cheap wine. Dragos tangled his fingers in his hair and shuffled on the couch until he was half on Ognyan’s lap. His tiny hat was either on the ground, or he was sitting on it.

When Dragos pulled away to breathe, his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing a little hard. His strangely coppery eyes were shining happily.

“ Yeah, happy birthday to me,” he grinned. Ognyan huffed a laugh. “I do hope you got me an actual present, though. Don’t think I haven’t seen you hanging around all mysterious with my son!”

“Shut up, Dragos,” Ognyan said affectionately.

“Make me,” Dragos replied. So Ognyan did.

He woke up on the couch, with a blanket draped over him, his neck in an awkward crick, and Luca shaking his shoulder roughly. He blinked a few times.

“Hey Ognyan!” Luca yelled excitedly. “It’s dad’s birthday! We should sing for him!” The boy didn’t seem to think it was strange that Ognyan was sleeping on the couch, which Ognyan was glad for. He spotted Dragos behind his son, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, wearing Iron Man pajamas and a fond smile. It felt very domestic, sort of like Ognyan lived here, and like Luca— Like Luca was his son, too, he caught himself thinking. Would he like that? He never thought he’d have children, he didn’t really think he would be a good father, but Luca liked him… Right? And he liked Luca…

He shook himself out of it. What a ridiculous trail of thought. He’d been on _one date_ with Dragos. It was not as if they were getting married.

“Ognyan! Come on, it’s singing time.”

“Yes, of course,” Ognyan said, pushing himself upright and stretching his arms over his head. His neck cracked.

They tried to sing in Romanian, because Luca sung in Bulgarian for him and why not? Dragos laughed and hugged both of them, pressing a kiss to both their cheeks.

Ognyan went home to take a shower and get dressed, but then he had to go back to present the gift he and Luca had thought up to Dragos.

Dragos’s friend had helped Luca draw something on it that looked like a bunch of – Ognyan wasn’t sure. Vampire unicorns? He tried not to question Luca’s imagination, or Dragos’s friends, so he said nothing about the state of the envelope.

Dragos pulled the paper out of the envelope theatrically. Luca was bouncing on the couch next to Ognyan.

“It is…” Dragos read the paper. “A pony! Yay!”

“Dad, no!” Luca shouted, and Dragos grinned at him.

“Don’t you like ponies? I’ve always wanted a pony.”

“ _Dad_! Just read what it says!”

Dragos looked down at the paper again. “A sightseeing tour of the vicinity of the lake by plane. Name of Dragos Bălan. I think I would have liked a pony better,” he told Luca, who rolled his eyes. “No, really, thank you both so much! I love it.”

Luca held his hand up for Ognyan to high-five, so he did, and then the boy proceeded to drape himself across both his and Dragos’s legs in an attempt to hug his father.

Ognyan met Dragos’s parents again, and he was pretty sure that at least his mother suspected that something was going on between them, judging by the assessing looks she kept sending him – which raised the question if Dragos had ever told his parents he liked men – but she didn’t comment. He suddenly missed his own parents a lot.

In the evening, he had to work, and Dragos insisted on walking him to his van, then on pressing him against it and kissing him slowly.

Ognyan surprised himself by not minding, except, “Hm, Dragos, I still have to go to work?”

“Ssh,” Dragos said, pressing their lips together again.

“Dra—”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. His hands were in Ognyan’s hair. Ognyan suspected that was his signature move. He kind of liked it. “You look good.”

“I—” He didn’t really know how to react to that. He probably looked like a mess. No doubt his nosy coworkers would comment on it.

Dragos tugged his shirt down, brushed his hands over it. “There. All ready for work.”

Ognyan ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. “I, uh. I really liked our date.”

His – what, anyway? Boyfriend? – smiled. “So did I. Let’s do it again sometime soon, hm?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” He breathed out, breath clouding in the cold air. “I should go, or my coworker’s going to be worried.”

“Yep. Go Ognyan! I’m gonna go eat some more cake.”

Ognyan chuckled. “See you, Dragos.”

“Take care.”

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first half of December passed by in a rush of work and Luca demanding Dragos rehearse lines for his Christmas play with him and moments with Ognyan that never seemed to last long enough. They managed to cram in another date on a Thursday afternoon, just walking along the lake.

“Does it ever freeze?” Ognyan asked, throwing a stick into the water.

“Sometimes. I’ve never seen it fully frozen, though. Too big. Can you skate?”

He laughed. “I can _not fall_ , that’s about as far as I get.”

So, of course, they went to the ice rink one town over with Luca and one of his school friends and attempted to teach Ognyan to skate. He was pretty okay at it by the end of the day. Back home, Luca and his friend staged a mini-version of their school play for them, with only their own – very minor – roles, and a lot of improvisation for the other parts. Dragos was quite sure the shepherds did not, at any point in the actual story, save baby Jesus from a robot from outer space, but he rather liked this version anyway.

“I don’t even know if you’re religious, like, at all,” he told Ognyan that Friday, as they were making dinner.

“I’m not,” Ognyan said. “I did go to a religious high school, but I’ve never really identified with anything. It was just the best school around. It’s a rarity, though, in Bulgaria. What about you?”

Dragos wobbled his head. “I guess you could say I’m vaguely protestant? Like, I was raised into it and used to go to church every once in a while, but I haven’t been in a long time, and I’m not raising Luca to believe in anything.” He tugged at his earlobe. “My parents fled Romania in part because they were protestant. Communism, you know. Not too kind on religious people. There were other reasons, too, things they never told me that were probably more important, but that was part of it.”

“Oh,” Ognyan said. “You know, that reminds me, my mother was very shocked to hear you were Romanian.”

Dragos brightened. “You told your mom about me? I’m flattered! What’s so shocking about being Romanian?”

“I have no idea! Have you ever been to Romania?”

“Yeah, a couple times. I used to have grandparents there, so we’ve gone to visit them a few times when I was younger. After the fall of the Iron Curtain, of course. But don’t change the subject! You told your mom about me.”

Blushing, Ognyan stirred his rice. Dragos sidled up beside him and put his chin on the man’s shoulder.

“What did you say, hm?”

“I, uh, I – she pulled it out of me! She’s like that!”

“It’s okay, no need to get defensive.” He chuckled, then asked, “Did you at least tell her I was a vampire and my name was Vladimir?”

“No, I—”

“That’s actually true, by the way.”

Ognyan’s spoon stilled.

“Not the vampire thing! I’m not a vampire! My middle name is Vladimir.”

“I… Guess that explains your magician stage name, then.”

“Did you really think I was a vampire? Oh my god, Ognyan!”

“Dragos…”

He laughed and brought his face closer to Ognyan’s neck. The man squirmed away, mumbling about how he needed to watch the rice. Ah, he was ticklish! Dragos rather liked this new information and decided to put it to good use by wrapping his fingers around Ognyan’s neck and pretending to be going for a bite. Ognyan yelped and dropped his wooden spoon in the pan.

“Dra—”

“Count Bălan!” Ognyan’s neck was _very_ warm.

“Let me stir my rice!” He batted at Dragos’s hands, shaking with laughter. “Please stop! I’m ticklish!”

“I noticed,” Dragos breathed into his ear. “I like it.”

“I don’t!”

Because he wasn’t a horrible person, and because he recognized the need for Ognyan to look over the rice, Dragos removed his hands, taking a small step back. “Watch your rice, then.”

“ _Thank you_.”

Dragos smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips, just because he could.

“Ewww,” Luca’s voice came from behind them, and they both froze.

While Dragos had no problem with letting his son know about their relationship, and he didn’t think Ognyan would, they hadn’t _planned_ on telling him. Not now, anyway. Dragos had been thinking maybe in time for Christmas.

He turned around, smiling bashfully at Luca, who was smirking.

“Hey Luc, we didn’t hear you coming!”

“No, because you were too busy being _really gross_ with Ognyan!” He stuck out his tongue, then pointed at Dragos triumphantly while Ognyan choked on nothing. “I _told_ you he liked you too, dad! I’m so smart.”

“I guess you are,” Dragos said. Amused, he high-fived his son, then nudged Ognyan in the side so he’d do the same.

“I’m gonna question him on his intentions later,” Luca confided in Dragos in a stage whisper, then disappeared back to the living room with the tablecloth. Ognyan furiously stirred his rice.

“Are you okay, man?” Dragos asked. Maybe he should stop calling him that and think of an appropriately embarrassing nickname. Not now, though. Poor guy was mortified enough as it were.

Ognyan shook his head, then nodded. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting Luca to – be there.”

“He’s okay with it. He adores you, Ognyan.”

“I know, yes, me too, that’s not the problem. I was just a little startled, I guess. It’s fine.” He looked up at Dragos, gaze confused. “What do you think he meant by ‘asking me about my intentions’? That sounds… Worrying.”

“I think it means I should limit the amount of movies he’s allowed to watch,” Dragos mused. “I’ll go help him with the table and see what he has in store for you, hm?”

He pinched Ognyan’s side as he went, amused by the yelp that pulled from the man.

 

* * *

 

 

Luca was really quite good at interrogating. Of course, after being subjected to that, Ognyan couldn’t _not_ retaliate. So he called his mother.

The last weeks of the year had started, which meant that, normally, she’d be frantically preparing for Christmas. She’d told Ognyan that she didn’t know if she’d do it quite like that this year, what with her husband just having passed away. Ognyan’s family might not be religious, but they loved getting together to eat and drink and, well, it was hard to escape religion in Bulgaria, so some of them did actually go to church. Nevertheless, his mother was less frantically preparing than other years, but she was very happy to hear about Dragos.

“And I’d love to meet him, even if it’s just on Skype!”

So Dragos met Ognyan’s mother, and, as expected, they got on like oil and fire, even if Ognyan had to translate half of what they said because his mother’s English wasn’t very good.

“But yours is,” Dragos had said afterwards. “Natural talent?”

“I guess so, yeah,” he’d answered, shaking his head on purpose.

He was invited over to his coworker’s for Christmas Eve, and accepted happily. The guy from his blind date was also there, and they had a very awkward conversation. Ognyan strangely wanted to hit him with a stick again.

He told Dragos the next day, and he made up a story about something to do with past lives and how he’d probably known the guy and by the way did he want to spend New Year’s Eve with him because Luca would be at his mother’s?

“What? Yes, of course, I’d love to!”

“Don’t be afraid to say no if you don’t. I mean, we do spend a lot of time together and I know I can be a little overbearing, so…”

“No, honestly, I would love to.”

“Okay! I look forward to it!”

Cue “ewww” from Luca.

Christmas Day went by; they got presents for Luca, and Luca made a drawing for both of them, which was adorable, even if Ognyan’s drawing was of him in a poofy dress with ‘Yogurt Fairy’ written underneath it in loopy, decidedly not eight-year-old boy handwriting. Ognyan suspected Dragos’s strange friend was behind it. Or one of them, anyway.

The day after Christmas, he finally met Luca’s mother properly. She was tall, was his first impression of her, taller than Dragos in her high heels. Luca had her eyes.

“You must be… Ognyan? Am I saying it right?”

“Yes, I am. It’s, uh. Uh, it’s nice to meet you, miss.”

She smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you. Luca likes you. And so does Dragos, apparently.” She raised an eyebrow.

Ognyan rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. This was one of the most awkward situations he’d ever been in, and that said a lot.

“Mom!” Luca yelled from upstairs, where he was gathering his stuff with Dragos. “Is my black sweater at your house?”

“I think so,” she called back. She hoisted her bag up her shoulder and held a hand out to Ognyan. “I wish you all the best, Ognyan. You and Dragos both.”

“You, too.” He wiped his own hand on his jeans and shook hers.

Luca came bounding down the stairs enthusiastically. “Hey, mom! Bye Ognyan, see you next year!”

“Have a good time, Luca,” Ognyan said, and he happily obliged the boy when he reached his arms up for a hug.

“Bye dad!”

Dragos appeared next to Ognyan and hugged his son as well. “Remember to call in the new year, okay?”

“Sure thing. Till next year!”

Dragos waved at the two of them until they rounded the corner, then turned to Ognyan.

“You should stay the night.”

“Should I?” Ognyan asked, unsure of what he was supposed to say.

“Well, I mean…” Dragos tugged at his left ear. “You could, if you wanted to. Do you want to?”

Did he want to? That wasn’t a very hard question.  “I’d like to.”

A grin appeared on Dragos’s face. He kicked the front door shut. “Awesome.”

Ognyan didn’t leave until the new year.

New Year’s Eve was spent configuring themselves in increasingly weird positions on the couch, at first genuinely trying to get comfortable as they watched TV, but ultimately just trying to out-pose each other. Until about eleven, at which point Dragos fell on top of Ognyan on the ground, planted his elbows on either side of his head and kissed him deeply. His whole body was flush against Ognyan, all warmth and shimmying movement, and strangely enough it didn’t tickle when he kissed down his throat, so Ognyan welcomed it all, trying to wriggle his hands underneath Dragos’s red sweater in return. Red looked good on him, Ognyan thought, a little distractedly.

“You’re on the floor,” Dragos suddenly said, levering himself up a little to look at Ognyan. He started to laugh. “You’re on the floor!”

“Well, I think technically you’re on the floor as well,” Ognyan replied helplessly. He felt quite out of breath.

“I think technically I’m on top of you, and I think I like it.”

“That’s good.” Ognyan hadn’t realized his hands were still moving, but suddenly he felt warm skin under his palms; he saw Dragos’s eyelids flutter a little.

Dragos moved his hips slowly against Ognyan’s, almost as if he was doing it subconsciously. “Really though,” he murmured, “if this is going where I think – hope – it’s going, we should at least get off the ground.”

He had a point, and the wooden floorboards were getting uncomfortable against the back of his head, so Ognyan pushed at his shoulders until he sat up on his knees, straddling Ognyan’s hips.

“Is this not—”

Ognyan caught the man’s gaze, and he fell silent.

“Okay, I guess that’s another way of saying yes,” Dragos mumbled. “What the fuck.”

Ognyan had no idea what his face was doing to get Dragos so flustered – it was very hard to get Dragos flustered – but he kind of liked it. Dragos climbed to his feet and grabbed his hand to hoist him up as well. He grinned at Ognyan, tilting back on his heels.

“Upstairs?”

Ognyan nodded, licking his already slick lips. Dragos kissed him quickly and began dragging him away. The television was still on.

Upstairs, they fumbled through the dark until Ognyan found the light switch in Dragos’s bedroom and pressed it with fingers that were shaking a little bit. Dragos was in the middle of the room, smiling at him and running a hand through his messy hair. Ognyan breathed out, feeling some of the sudden nervousness settle, and smiled back.

“Yeah?” Dragos asked, and Ognyan nodded. Before Dragos could make a smart comment about head movement, Ognyan took two steps and kissed him again, pushing his hands back underneath the man’s sweater. Dragos tilted his head on an exhale, fitting his lips better against Ognyan’s. His skin was warm under Ognyan’s hands, and amazingly soft. When his sweater had been pushed at enough, Dragos detached himself to pull it over his head, messing his hair up even more. The flush from his face spread all the way down his neck, almost to his collarbones. Ognyan couldn’t help but run his fingers over the man’s shoulders and neck, relishing in the shiver that resulted.

Dragos’s grin was wickedly sharp. “Come on, Ognyan. Eye for an eye, right?” He began undoing the buttons on Ognyan’s nice green shirt, and Ognyan was too distracted to do anything but let him, lifting his arms to get his undershirt off.

“This okay?” Dragos asked, pressing his thumbs down on the jut of Ognyan’s hips, just above his jeans, and Ognyan snapped out of it.

“Yes. Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” he joked with a wink. “Seriously though, no more sorry!”

No more sorry. Okay. He could do that, Ognyan thought, and he began pushing Dragos backwards, to his bed. The man was grinning again, even as his knees hit the mattress and he fell on his back. He propped himself up on his elbows, throwing a look that was positively a leer at Ognyan, who tried to return it in kind, even though the spike of arousal the look sent through him had his knees buckling. It was hard to believe, really, that someone like Dragos would want him, like this, but Ognyan was _not_ going to question that now, not on the verge of this, on the cusp of a new year that would hopefully bring many good things _like_ this.

Dragos had shuffled further up his bed, wrinkling his tacky Incredible Hulk sheets – Ognyan still couldn’t believe he had Hulk sheets – and was now fumbling with the fastening on his jeans.

“Let me,” Ognyan said, surprising both himself and Dragos.

Dragos bit his lips and groaned while Ognyan pried his buttons open, hands running over Ognyan’s forearms.

Jeans gone, Ognyan pressed Dragos’s hips down as he leaned over him to kiss him again, pressing their chests together. Dragos fumbled his pants open and pushed at them frantically, and then everything was skin and heat and it was over embarrassingly quickly, but Dragos was grinning and Ognyan felt light-headed and giddy, so that was okay.

They tangled together under the tacky sheets, murmuring meaningless things to each other, dozing off every once in a while. Ognyan thought he could get used to this. He hoped he’d have the chance to.

“Hey, you wanna watch the fireworks?” Dragos mumbled, with his head cushioned on Ognyan’s chest. “It’s almost midnight, right?”

Ognyan checked the clock. Seven to twelve. Huh. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m pretty comfortable right now.” He pushed his fingers through Dragos’s hair.

“Yeah,” Dragos said. “I should probably lock the doors.” He sighed and pushed himself up, kissed Ognyan and slipped out of the room in his underwear. Ognyan rubbed his hands over his warm face with a smile.

 When Dragos returned, it was two to midnight, and Ognyan had sat up with his back against the headboard of the bed. He didn’t feel self-conscious at all when Dragos’s gaze swept over his bare chest, to where the sheets pooled in his lap. He actually had half a mind to make a cheeky comment. Hm, Dragos must be rubbing off on—

Well. Ognyan snickered.

“Something funny?” Dragos asked, climbing under the sheets next to him.

“Nah,” he answered, “it’s nothing.”

“I did think of something funny just now. I’ll tell you next year.” He reached over to turn his stereo on, just as people were beginning to count down from twenty.

Ognyan, true to his own tradition since he emigrated, counted from ten to zero in Bulgarian while Dragos mouthed the numbers in English. There was already the distant sound of fireworks elsewhere in their neighborhood.

“Three, two, one! Happy new year!” Dragos yelled excitedly.

Ognyan laughed, then replied, “Happy new year, Dragos.”

“Oh, what’s that in Bulgarian? That’s cool, I can tell Luca that.”

“Uh, Честита Нова Година,” Ognyan said.

“Честита Нова Година,” Dragos repeated diligently, and then he pulled Ognyan closer to kiss him. “As my parents would say, an nou fericit, Ognyan. I hope I’ll spend a lot of it with you.”

His face got even warmer. An explosion of fireworks started outside, but Ognyan didn’t care, because Dragos’s fingers were warm on his face and also, “Your phone is ringing.”

Dragos pulled away, confused for a second. “Oh, Luca!” He half fell out of bed reaching for his phone, which he put on speaker. “Hey, Luc!”

“Dad! Happy new year!”

“Happy new year, kid. I was going to say it in Bulgarian, but I forgot how. Ognyan probably remembers.” He threw Ognyan a significant look.

“Честита Нова Година, Luca,” Ognyan said, because what can you do.

“Happy new year, Ognyan. I stayed up all night! Mom says we’re gonna look at the fireworks now, so I gotta go. See you tomorrow!”

“Bye!” Dragos and Ognyan chorused.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna check out the fireworks?”

Ognyan smiled. “They’ll be there next year. I won’t stop you if you want to look, though.”

“Does that imply I won’t be there next year?” Dragos asked, leaning on Ognyan’s shoulder. “’Cause I don’t really like the sound of that.”

Ognyan licked his lips. “Me neither. Life is unpredictable, though.” He looked at Dragos, startled a little at the emotion he found in the man’s light eyes. “I would like it, though, if you were there next year.”

“We’ll see, hm?” Dragos asked, pressing their lips together briefly. “Time will tell.”

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the explosions outside and the sound of ABBA on the radio, but then Ognyan remembered something.

“You said you thought of something funny.”

“Oh yeah. Last year.” He snickered. “See, I’ve been trying to think of an embarrassing nickname for you for a while now, and I just realized— Do you know any Romanian?”

“Not really?”

“Okay, well, the Romanian word for love, as in the noun, is ‘dragoste’, and it’s really not meant to be used as a nickname, that would be ‘dragă’, but it has my name in it, so I thought it’d be funny anyway.” He giggled into Ognyan’s shoulder.

“Are you drunk?” Ognyan asked, a little amused.

“No! Why would you think that… Dragoste?”

“It’s more of a thing I would call you, don’t you think? Since it has your name in it and all…”

He looked appropriately horrified. “Please don’t call me dragoste, my parents would never let it go.”

“Dragoste.”

“Stop it!” he laughed.

“I don’t know, I kind of like it.”

“ _Ognyan_!”

They didn’t get around to sleeping for a long while.

 

* * *

 

 

January passed peacefully. Luca had a snowman building competition with some other kids from around the neighborhood and lost because one kid apparently had a professional snowman artist in the family or something. When Dragos went over to look at the ‘most best snowman’, so dubbed by the winner himself, he found out that the boy had had help from Ognyan’s aggressive coworker. Later, he found out that she was actually his mother, but not before getting tripped into a snow bank.

His friend’s little brother fell into the lake _again_ , but this time he was rescued by the former-roommate-turned-now apparently _dating_ the little brother, Dragos definitely didn’t want to know.

Ognyan tried to teach him Cyrillic script because Dragos mentioned how beautiful he thought it looked in cursive, and failed horribly. Luca was pretty good at it, and Ognyan let him write a message in his mother’s birthday card. Dragos’s own parents inspected Ognyan thoroughly – which came down to his father subjecting him to an endless barrage of bad jokes in purposely bad English and his mother commenting on his barely-existent political views and their relation to communism. But, once that was done, they deemed him fit for their son and had a pleasant conversation until Luca knocked over his grandfather’s tea.

In February, they had a fight. Which, maybe, in retrospect, was a good thing, because it was good to let off some steam sometimes, but at the moment itself, it wasn’t nice at all.

It was over Ognyan’s incessant apologizing, of all things. He wasn’t shy or self-conscious around Dragos anymore, but that particular habit died hard. Ognyan was apparently the sort of person who got quiet and brooding when he was angry, which only served to frustrate Dragos even more, because he was the sort of person who got loud and aggressive when angry and wanted to be yelled back at.

There was an impasse that lasted three days, until Luca staged an intervention because, “It’s Valentine’s day, dad! This is ridiculous! You still like Ognyan, right?”

Dragos mumbled his way through an answer, and eventually he was roped into going to Ognyan’s house to apologize to him.

Ognyan started laughing.

“ _What_?”

“No, I just—”  He grabbed Dragos's lapels and yanked him inside, shoving him against the wall and meshing their mouths together messily. “Fuck, Dragos,” he breathed. “I love you.”

“I— I love you too.” He slammed his hand against the wall when Ognyan did something with his tongue that was just—

Later, after Luca came looking for Dragos and they decided to order pizza together, Ognyan told Dragos he’d thought it was funny that they had a fight over his apologizing and that Dragos had come to apologize.

“But it was mostly relief, I think.” He plucked a piece of bell pepper from Dragos’s pizza, as he tended to do. “The apologizing thing is more of a reflex, if that helps.”

Dragos stole some of his tomato in retaliation. “It’s fine.”

“By the way,” Luca said, “I have a girlfriend now. She’s really pretty.”

“You _what_?”

Later in February, Dragos realized that he’d known Ognyan for over a year now. Strange, it seemed like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time. Ognyan said he felt the same way.

Luca became friends with the artsy-fartsy snowman kid and wanted piano lessons like him, and luckily Dragos had a bit of money saved for things like that, so he sent his son to take weekly piano lessons. Ognyan’s cleaning and cooking songs were soon transcripted and taught to Dragos, who was a terrible piano player. Around this time, he had a sudden epiphany that he wanted to write a book himself, instead of just reviewing other people’s work, so he consulted his son about possible stories and set to work with a story about a magician who could _actually_ do magic. His name was Vlad, but only because he couldn’t think of anything better.

Luca’s girlfriend lasted for three full weeks after Valentine’s Day, which was impressive, as far as Dragos was concerned.

“Should I be worried?” Ognyan quipped. “Vlad the Great & Powerful, heartbreaker extraordinaire?”

“Elementary school heartthrob,” Dragos said in his exaggerated accent, and then he remembered that he had a yearbook somewhere that proclaimed him ‘most likely to end up in jail’, so he had to show that to Ognyan. And Luca, who laughed at every single photo in the thing. In a weird twist of fate, Dragos apparently _went to high school_ with Ognyan’s aggressive coworker, but neither of them remembered.

“It’s a small world,” Ognyan said, by way of an explanation.

In the beginning of March, Dragos finally took that tour by plane he’d gotten for his birthday. That was when he found out that Ognyan had a fear of heights and had spent all of his plane rides so far with his eyes shut a good portion of the time, or else definitely not looking out of the window. So, because Luca was too short to go, Dragos took his friend’s little brother. God knew he deserved some fun. The plane didn’t crash, and Ognyan liked the guy.

Luca caught the flu, and Ognyan worried over him more than Dragos did. Dragos enjoyed watching him with his son, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest when he caught himself thinking of the future this way; him, Luca and Ognyan, for as long as possible.

That night, he pressed Ognyan into his mattress and whispered promises into pale skin that the man probably didn’t understand, but he arched his back into the touch anyway, murmuring things back in Bulgarian.

“I love you,” Dragos whispered, and then again, and again, and Ognyan echoed his every word. Dragos had no idea when he got this sappy, or if maybe this had always been hidden inside him, just waiting for Ognyan to bring it out. Of course, Luca had a way of bringing this side of him to light, but there was no way to compare that to Ognyan.

And they had only known each other for a year.

“Hey, do you have a middle name?” he asked Ognyan, on a sunny day at the end of March. They were walking by the lake, Luca skipping along the shore ahead, throwing rocks and branches into the water.

“No, why?”

“I’m still trying to think of a name for the main character of my book.”

Ognyan laughed. “You’re still working on that? How’s it going?”

“It’s a labor of love.” That meant, of course, that he wasn’t getting any further at all.

“I have a patronymic, though.”

“Oh, like a ‘son of’ thing, right? I didn’t know that was a thing in Bulgaria.”

“It is. It’s actually—” He chuckled. “It’s really boring. My father’s name was Boris, so my patronymic is the same as my surname.”

Dragos kicked at a stone. “So your name’s Ognyan Borisov Borisov?”

“Yep. Stupid, right?”

“Hey, my name is Dragos Vladimir, I’m not one to talk.” They had stopped walking now. Dragos kept half an eye on his son as he mused, “Boris is a rather good name, actually. Would it be okay if I used it?”

“Sure.” Ognyan smiled softly. “I think my father would have liked you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Dad!” Luca called. “Ognyan! I found a frog, come look!”

 

* * *

 

 

April passed in a haze of rain, but May brought better weather. Luca turned nine and Ognyan and Dragos got him an electric piano so he could practice at home. Dragos’s parents subjected Ognyan to another round of good-natured inspection. Luckily, his mother said nothing about politics this time.

In a small miracle, Dragos actually finished his story about Boris the magician in early June, and it was quite good too, at least according to Ognyan and Luca. He sent it to a few people, including his own boss, and hoped for the best. Ognyan translated the whole thing into Bulgarian for his mother, and it apparently became a hit with his family.

“My cousins say I should marry you,” he told Dragos, and the man laughed heartily.

“Let’s wait a few years with that, hm? At least until it’s actually possible.”

That didn’t rule out the possibility. Ognyan almost dropped the plate he was washing.

“Sorry, did I startle you with that? We don’t have to get married, ever.”

“I…” How was he supposed to react to that? He dried his hands slowly.

“Forget I said anything, really! We’ll cross that bridge when we – if we – get to it.”

“Yeah,” Ognyan mumbled. “Don’t worry.” He felt Dragos slide into his space, radiating warmth through his thin shirt. Ognyan turned to face him. “Is it weird that I do hope we get to that bridge?”

Dragos’s answering smile was soft. “No. That’s not weird at all.”

They spent some time lazily kissing against the counter in Ognyan’s kitchen, not really planning to take it anywhere else, just happy to be in each other’s presence, then the rest of the warm summer evening in the garden. Dragos made up a weird story about Vladimir the mosquito. He was not really imaginative with names, Ognyan thought.

There was a Midsummer celebration mixing tradition from several countries, and of course the unfortunate little brother of Dragos’s friend caught fire and had to be doused with water.

As the ultimate test of their relationship – according to Ognyan’s friend, formerly known as ‘I want to hit him with a stick’ – Ognyan and Dragos went on a week’s vacation to the mountains together, even without Luca, who was staying with his mother. They had a great time. Ognyan, whose fear of heights fortunately was limited to situations where his feet weren't actually touching the ground, jogged around the vicinity of their cabin and found a beautiful, secluded spot, out of the wind by a shallow pool, so he dragged Dragos up with him. They spent quite a lot of time there, not doing anything notable, but for some reason they were often exhausted in the evening and did little more than collapse into bed together. At the end of the week, though, on the one rainy day, they never even left the cabin.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna go home,” Dragos mumbled into Ognyan’s back. “Except that I miss Luca.” Their legs had tangled together, only their calves resting under the sheets. It was getting a little chilly, if Ognyan was being honest, but he was still too comfortable to consider reaching down. At least his back was warm.

“I’m sure Luca misses you too.”

“He’s having fun with his mom.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t miss you.” Ognyan wriggled around until he faces Dragos, their foreheads touching together.

Dragos nudged his face up a little and kissed him briefly. “You would be a great father, you know that?”

He averted his eyes. “I’m not sure…”

“Ah, no worries!” Dragos rolled him over until he was on top of him, warm skin sliding together. “I’m doing it again, right, talking about the future?”

 _Friction_. Ognyan gasped, and Dragos grinned.

“I don’t mind you talking about the—” He threw his head back with another gasp.

“Hm?”

They didn’t talk for a while after that.

In a pretty big miracle, Dragos’s book actually got picked up, so he spent half of July revising and re-revising, and the other half running around with his son and/or Ognyan with endless energy. One of his friends offered to do illustrations for the story, which Ognyan was a little worried about, in all honesty, considering what Luca sometimes picked up from the man, but they turned out wonderfully elegant, and Dragos was over the moon. Ognyan spent a few days feeling horribly self-conscious about his own – lack of – artistic skill, but eventually one of his coworkers talked him out of it. She also offered to hit Dragos over the head with a frying pan, which he politely declined.

“What is her _deal_?” Dragos shrieked. “What did I ever do to her?”

Luca made a face. “Remember when you made my friend cry? Maybe she doesn’t like you because of that.”

“I didn’t know he was going to cry because of a magic trick!”

“He’s afraid of birds,” Luca explained, in voice that made it very clear just what he thought about his father not taking his friend’s phobias into consideration.

“I apologized! Ognyan, tell him I apologized!”

Ognyan wisely kept his mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, the future always came sooner than one expected. Dragos thought quite often about how Luca seemed to be a toddler one day, and how he was nine the next. He supposed he was a bit sentimental, when it came to things like that. He couldn’t believe he was turning thirty-four this year.

Another thing he couldn’t believe is that he had actually written a story that was considered good enough to publish. His mother had proudly said it was because he had artistic genes and he’d always been such a smart kid, but he privately thought it was mostly due to his many years reviewing other people’s work. He had undoubtedly developed a subconscious feel for good stories. His publisher had asked if he wanted to use a pen name, and Dragos was glad of that. His name was very recognizable, and what if the book actually took off? He didn’t think he wanted to be famous.

Unfortunately, he was still terrible with names, so he told his best friend, his boyfriend, and his son to get together and think of something.

“Hey, dad,” Luca said, coming inside from the garden, where they’d been discussing, “we thought of some names. Do you wanna hear them?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome! We’ve got one with your initials, that’s Dennis Banner…”

“What? No.”

Ognyan laughed, coming inside behind Luca. Dragos’s friend was leaning against the doorpost, looking vaguely amused.

“Aw, okay,” Luca said. “We also thought of one that has kind of the same meaning as your name! Cool, right? That’s Darin Biondi. It also has your initials, but that’s a coincidence.”

Dragos frowned. “That’s not so bad. Is that surname Italian?”

“Yeah! You never told me our surname meant ‘blond’, by the way.” He furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure if I like it. Anyway, the last one is Romanian, but sounds better in English than your own name.”

“Bring it on,” Dragos chuckled. Maybe he should just let his publisher think of a pseudonym, no matter the man’s weird tendency to relate everything to rabbits.

“Alin Dalca!”

“Hm. Alin is cool, but I’m not sure about Dalca.” He mouthed it a few times. “Maybe just choose an English surname?”

“Oh! I know! What about Black? That’s _really_ cool.”

Dragos glanced at Ognyan, who cocked his head in a gesture that said ‘why not?’.

“So it would be Alin Black? Hm, I like it. I’ll tell the publisher about it, see what he thinks.”

Luca pumped his fist in the air.

So Dragos Bălan became Alin Black, which was weird but also pretty awesome. There wasn’t much to do in August, but Dragos took Luca on a few outings, and Ognyan tagged along when he didn’t have to work. His hours had been increased because of some cuts at the company, and he was a little worried for his own job. Still, he didn’t let it get him down.

It was strange to be in a relationship with his neighbor, Dragos thought. Not strange as in that he thought something was wrong with it, but strange as in they spent a lot of time at each other’s houses – to the point where Ognyan sometimes just came to his house after work or Luca visited Ognyan before he came home when he had been out – but, most of the time, they went home at night, saying goodbye at the other’s front door. It was a weird sort of in-between situation, and one that necessitated the future coming sooner rather than later in Dragos’s eyes.

“Hey, Ognyan, can I ask you something?” Dragos asked. It was almost September, and Luca was preparing to go back to school by ignoring that school existed and playing in the garden all day.

“Sure?”

“Don’t freak out, but I thought it might be nice if— Do you want to move in with us?” He bit his lower lip. “I understand if you think it’s too soon, but the situation we have now is just strange, you know?”

Ognyan opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. Dragos held his breath.

“I’m… Not sure,” he said eventually. “I have to think about it.”

“Of course, take all the time you need.”

“I get what you mean, about our situation.” He smiled. “I guess it has downsides, being neighbors.”

Dragos nodded, relived that he hadn’t scared Ognyan off at least. It _was_ soon, but he honestly felt like it would be a good decision – like he could spend the foreseeable future, and maybe the rest of his life, with Ognyan, fate permitting. He’d asked Luca, of course, and he was in favor of the idea, saying Ognyan could cook all the time.

It took a week before Ognyan reached a decision; it was Luca’s first day of school and he’d promised to cook, so Dragos went over to his house to help him in the evening.

“You’re looking a little fidgety,” he observed, watching Ognyan move the ingredients for dinner around the kitchen counter restlessly.

“Yeah, sorry.” He turned to Dragos, licking his lips slowly. “About what you asked last week… Me moving in with you and Luca?”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, which said little in these circumstances. “I want to. You were right, we’re in a weird situation right now, and I hope I… I hope that we will, you know.”

“Stay together for a long time?” Dragos asked. He brushed his fingertips over Ognyan’s forearm. “I really hope so, too. Are you really sure?”

He huffed a laugh. “Yes. My mom said I should do it, too, and you know how my mom is when I don’t listen to her.”

Dragos laughed as well. Ognyan definitely hadn’t gotten his shyness from his mother, no. She was mildly terrifying at times, even on a screen.

“It’s not because of that, though. That was just extra motivation.”

“That’s great. That’s wonderful.” He clasped his fingers around Ognyan’s bony wrist and tugged him closer. “I love you.”

Ognyan just smiled, touching their foreheads together briefly.

 

* * *

 

 

Ognyan was a little sad to be leaving his house behind, especially considering he hadn’t even spent two years in it, but he was excited about moving in with Dragos and Luca as well. The nice thing was that he didn’t need a truck this time, he could just haul his stuff through the garden and into his new home. At the end of September, after his thirty-first birthday, he, Dragos, Luca and some friends spent a few days trying to figure out what to put where in the house and what to put for sale on eBay. Dragos’s friend’s little brother fell in love with Ognyan’s old coffee table and bargained tirelessly to buy it, despite his brother insisting it wouldn’t even fit in his apartment.

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I’m right, so I can.”

“No, you can’t!”

Dragos elbowed Ognyan in the ribs. “I am so glad I haven’t got any siblings.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Honestly, his cousins had been annoying enough growing up.

He bought the table, in the end.

Everything was ready by October. Ognyan spent a night on a mattress in his house – his old house, as a goodbye of sorts, before moving in with the Bălans. Dragos jokingly gave him a tour of the house, every once in a while commenting on things in his exaggerated accent, making Ognyan giggle childishly. When Luca came home from school, the three of them ate slightly burnt cake to celebrate the move.

And that was it.

It was strange, for the first few weeks, to not go next door at the end of the day and instead crawl into bed with Dragos, but it was something Ognyan got used to fairly quickly. After all, it wasn’t entirely new. They’d stayed over plenty of times, now it was just… Indefinite.

“I thought you were going to say forever,” Dragos murmured from the other side of the bed.

“I thought I was going to say forever too,” Ognyan said. He stared at the ceiling. _Forever_.

“I wouldn’t mind.” A shuffling of sheets, and then Dragos’s hand on his arm, thumb stroking gently.

Ognyan didn’t know what to say, so he just turned on his side and tucked his head in the crook of Dragos’s neck.

He woke up to his alarm the next morning, limbs completely entangled with Dragos’s, groaned, extracted himself, and went to take a shower before waking Luca for school. Dragos had the magical ability to sleep through any alarm, but he had also developed an internal clock that usually got him up just in time to wake his son, rush through morning rituals and get the boy out the door to the bus with seconds to spare. Luca had quickly decided he preferred to have just a little more time in the morning – to do his hair, he’d said – so Ognyan had been assigned the task of waking him. He didn’t mind. He also took up feeding Mr Ivan, the goldfish, because Luca and Dragos always forgot. He didn’t question why the goldfish was named Mr Ivan.

At work, the atmosphere was getting more tense with each day that passed. People right and left were losing their jobs to reorganizations, and the rest of the employees were terrified they’d be the next.

Ognyan found that cooking helped calm him down, so he did so often – this much to the delight of the other people in the house.

On the anniversary of his father’s death, he spent a long time talking with his mother on the phone. She promised to come visit him in the next year.

Dragos’s book was published in late November. Just in time for his birthday, he gleefully noted. He didn’t do anything in the way of promotion, because he honestly didn’t want attention because of it. He was proud, though, which in turn made Ognyan feel proud. It sold fairly well, especially in the weeks before Christmas. Not a bestseller, but then no one had expected it to be.

“It’s just crazy,” Dragos said. “I mean, talk about lucky breaks, man.”

It was a Sunday morning and Dragos was draped across Ognyan’s chest, bundled in the sheets.

“Maybe you _can_ do magic,” Ognyan mumbled, still half asleep.

“Wouldn’t that be cool.” His hand crept down Ognyan’s torso, dangerously close to the edge of his pants.

Ognyan opened his eyes to find Dragos smirking. He sighed. “If you make that stupid joke one more—”

“I’m gonna _work my magic_ on you!”

“You’re insufferable,” Ognyan said, and then he lay back and relished in the feeling of contentment that washed over him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Once upon a time,” Dragos started theatrically, trying hard to keep the accent from his voice, “there was a boy who didn’t eat his vegetables! And do you know what happened to him?”

“Dad, please stop, this is embarrassing,” Luca said. “I’m almost ten!”

“He _died_ from malnourishment!”

“ _Dad_!”

Dragos could see Ognyan biting his lip to keep from laughing.

“At least try them, Luc.”

Luca grumbled and put one stalk of broccoli in his mouth demonstratively. Ognyan’s shoulders were shaking.

It was early March, and uncharacteristically warm for the time of year. Dragos’s flowers had started growing already, which was worrying because what if it got colder again? They could die!

They had a new neighbor; a nice guy, and also from Europe, quite by coincidence. Dragos’s friend had become best friends with him after it turned out they liked the same music. This was found out because Dragos and Ognyan could hear it playing through the wall and Ognyan had thought that someone was being tortured.

Luca ate most of his broccoli, in the end. After dinner, he hauled his school bag into the living room and deposited a heap of books on the table.

“Can you help me with math, dad?” he asked loudly, and Dragos opened his mouth to reply that he was crap at math and that Luca should ask Ognyan, but when he looked up, his son was – looking at Ognyan, who was frozen in place.

“Luc?” he asked. Luca tilted his head, but then understanding dawned on his face.

“I just called Ognyan dad, didn’t I?”

“Think you did, yeah.”

Luca tugged at his hair. “Do you think I broke him? I didn’t mean to.” He took a step towards Ognyan. “I’m sorry I scared you, Ognyan.”

The man in question shook his head. “No, no! It’s okay, I wasn’t, I just.” He mumbled something, maybe in Bulgarian, maybe in English.

“Honestly, I wasn’t going to. It just slipped out. I won’t say it ever again if you don’t like it!”

“It’s fine! You can, if you want to.”

Dragos watched it unfold with interest. Overall, he could say Luca had taken to Ognyan amazingly. There were still things that the boy would rather tell Dragos about, of course, but he really trusted Ognyan as well. And Ognyan, despite the fact that he’d kept saying he didn’t think he’d be a good father, was nothing but great with Luca. Well, maybe a little awkward sometimes, but that could be forgiven.

Luca pursed his lips. “I don’t really want to, I think?” He made a thinking sound. “You’re not really my dad, you know. But you’re sort of _like_ really my dad, so I guess I can call you dad sometimes? That sounds like a good idea.”

Ognyan stuttered a reply, but Luca was already tugging at his sleeve, trying to get him to look at his homework. Dragos threw him a soft smile when the man glanced up at him, look somewhere between confused, terrified and happy. ‘ _Love you_ ,’ he mouthed, and his smile grew into a grin when that made Ognyan blush and duck his head.

Life was pretty good.

Once upon a time, there was a guy who was stuck underneath a slab of stone and cursing in Bulgarian, and another who just so happened to be pulling weeds in his garden, and – destiny or chance – they met, became friends and fell in love, and would hopefully live happily ever after.

And also another guy fell in the lake _again_ and Dragos was going to start _charging_ for these trips to the hospital, seriously.

And Ognyan’s mother was even more terrifying in person, which obviously meant that she became Luca’s new best friend immediately. Dragos despaired of his son’s taste in women.

Really, though.

Life was pretty good.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Spot the cameos_ :  
> Norway as strange friend  
> Iceland as friend’s unfortunate little brother  
> Denmark as friend’s ‘former roommate-turned-what the hell ever, Dragos didn’t even want to know’  
> England as friend who draws unicorn vampires on things  
> Hungary as aggressive coworker  
> Veneziano as ‘I want to hit him with a stick’  
> Turkey as high school enemy turned chef  
> Kugelmugel as artsy-fartsy piano kid  
> Netherlands as rabbit-obsessed publisher  
> Finland as new neighbor with loud music  
> (unsure if Mr Ivan the fish has anything to do with Russia)  
> (see my Nordic ships shining through huehuehue)


End file.
